The Children's Hour Volume V Part 1

The Children's Hour.

VOL 5. Stories From Seven Old Favorites.

by Eva March Tappan.

TO THE CHILDREN

This volume is made up of stories from seven famous books. These books are as different as they can possibly be; and yet there are not many boys and girls who do not like every one of them. The chief reason for this is because they seem so true, so much more "real" than most other stories. When you read about Tom Thumb, for instance, you do not really believe that there ever was a little boy no bigger than his mother's thumb; at least, you do not believe it in the same way that you believe the sun s.h.i.+nes or the wind blows; but when you read "Robinson Crusoe," you feel as if every word of it must be true.

The first of these books is "The Pilgrim's Progress." In one way it is a little like a fable; that is, when you read it the first time, it is simply a good story. Afterwards--sometimes a long while afterwards--you read it again or sit thinking about it, and suddenly you see that it has another meaning, that it is more than the story of a man who makes a wonderful journey. This book was written in jail by a man named John Bunyan. The English laws of that time would not allow any one to preach except clergymen of the Church of England. Bunyan, however, felt that it would be wicked for him to obey these laws, so he kept on preaching. He was thrown into prison, and the prisons of those days were horrible places. "If you will promise not to preach again, you shall be free," said the officers. "If you let me out to-day I will preach again to-morrow," declared Bunyan; and meanwhile he preached to the other prisoners. He thought of his wife and children and of how little he could do to support them while he was in jail; he thought of his little blind daughter Mary; but still he said to himself, "I must, I must do it." For twelve long years he stayed in prison. He made tags for shoe laces to sell to help his family; and he wrote the book that has been read by more people than any other volume except the Bible.

The second book, "Robinson Crusoe," was written by Daniel Defoe; and he, too, knew what it was to be in jail. He was not imprisoned for preaching, but for his political writings. Once when he had written a pamphlet that did not please the authorities, he was condemned to stand in the pillory. The people took his part, and, instead of throwing stones at him, they dropped roses about him and bought thousands of copies of a poem that he had written while in jail.

He wrote many books, but his best, "Robinson Crusoe," was produced after he had become a middle-aged man and had some money and a big, homely house with plenty of ground for his favorite gardening. The way the book came to be written was this. A sailor named Alexander Selkirk spent more than four years alone on the island of Juan Fernandez. When he was rescued and brought to England, many people went to gaze at him in his goatskin clothes and to hear him talk about his life on the island. Defoe went with the others, and he never forgot the stories told by the sailor in goatskins. Seven years later he worked in his garden and thought about the desert island. Then he went into his house and wrote the book that everybody likes, "Robinson Crusoe."

"Gulliver's Travels" was written by an Irish clergyman named Jonathan Swift. He was a strange man. Some people said he was a genius, and some said he had always been a little insane. When he wrote, he often seemed to care for nothing but to say the most cutting, scornful things that he could. There was one cla.s.s of persons, however, who loved him from the bottom of their hearts, and they were the poor people about his home in Ireland. It is true that he sometimes scolded them, but they saw straight through his grumbling and understood that he really cared for them and wanted to help them, and they loved him and trusted him. He lived more than two hundred years ago, but the Irish have never forgotten him; and even to this day, if you should wander about in Ireland, you would see in many a little cottage people gathered around the fire, telling over and over the stories that their grandmothers had told them of his kind heart and his peculiar ways.

"The Pilgrim's Progress," "Robinson Crusoe," and "Gulliver's Travels"

were all written by men of the British Isles, but our fourth book, "Don Quixote," was written by a Spaniard named Cervantes. He was a soldier part of his life and as valiant a fighter as his own hero. For five years he was a prisoner of war; he was poor and sick and in one trouble after another; but he was always brave and cheerful and good-humored. In his day, the Spaniards read few books except queer old romances of chivalry, the sort of tale in which a great champion goes out with his squire to wander over the world in search of adventures. He makes thieves give back what they have stolen, he sets prisoners free, he rescues beautiful maidens who have been dragged away from their homes; in short, he roams about making people do whatever he thinks proper. Sometimes he takes a castle all by himself, sometimes he gets the better of a whole group of champions or a host of giants or even a dragon or two. Cervantes's book makes fun of such tales as these. His hero attacks a terrible company of giants standing on a plain all ready to destroy him; but the giants prove to be windmills, and their sails give him many a heavy blow before his fight with them is over. Another time, he finds the giants in his very bedroom; and the courageous knight cuts off their heads as fast as he can swing his sword. Blood flows like water; only when a light is brought, it does not prove to be blood but--well, it is not fair to tell the rest of the story. We must let Cervantes do that for himself in "Don Quixote's Battle with the Giants."

The fifth book, the "Arabian Nights," is a mystery. We do not know who composed the stories or who brought them together in one collection.

We cannot even tell where they came from. The most we can say positively is that two hundred years ago a Frenchman traveling through the East came across them in some Arabian ma.n.u.scripts and translated them into French. Whether they came in the first place from Arabia or Persia or India, whether they were composed five or six hundred years ago or at least one thousand, no one can say. Many learned scholars have tried in vain to answer these questions; but if we had to choose between having the stories and knowing who wrote them, I do not believe that any boy or girl who had read even one of them would find it difficult to make a choice.

The sixth book, "The Travels of Baron Munchausen," is said to have been written by a German named Raspe; but it is just as well not to believe this statement too positively, for it is quite possible that Raspe had nothing to do with the book. Learned scholars have held profound discussions on the source of the stories. One in particular, that of the frozen tunes which began to play of themselves as soon as they thawed, has been found in some form in several countries. The best match for the Baron's version is the old tale of the merchants who set out one day to buy furs. When they came to a river, they saw the fur dealers standing on the opposite sh.o.r.e. The dealers held up their furs and seemed to be shouting their prices, but it was so cold that the words froze in the air. Then the merchants went out on the ice and built a great fire. It warmed the air overhead, and the words thawed and came down. But long before this, the dealers had gone home.

The merchants thought the prices too high, so they, too, went home; and that was the end of the tale. The "Travels" is full of stories as absurd as this, but told in such a way that while you are reading them, and sometimes for as much as five minutes afterwards, you feel as if they were really true.

The seventh and last of the books is the plays of Shakespeare. A play always contains a story, and it is the stories of some of Shakespeare's dramas that are given here. In the real plays there is much more than stories, however, because Shakespeare was not only a story-teller but also a poet. A poet must express what he sees and thinks in a way to give pleasure and he must see more than other people. Now when Shakespeare puts a thought into words, we find that no one else has expressed it so well. Moreover, he sees more clearly than any other writer how a person would feel and behave in various circ.u.mstances. As we read the plays, we say to ourselves of one character after another, "That is just the way I should feel if I were that person." We think of them as real people. We talk of what they would have done if circ.u.mstances had been different. It is only a great genius who can make out of words characters that seem almost as real as the people around us, but this is what William Shakespeare has done.

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS

CHRISTIAN Pa.s.sES THROUGH THE WICKET GATE

_By John Bunyan_

In process of time _Christian_ got up to the Gate. Now over the Gate there was written, _Knock and it shall be opened unto you_. He knocked therefore more then once or twice, saying,--

"May I now enter here? Will he within Open to sorry me, though I have bin An undeserving Rebel? Then shall I Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high."

At last there came a grave Person to the Gate named _Good-Will_, who asked Who was there? and whence he came? and what he would have?

_Chr._ Here is a poor burdened sinner. I come from the City of _Destruction_, but am going to Mount _Zion_, that I may be delivered from the wrath to come. I would therefore, Sir, since I am informed that by this Gate is the way thither, know if you are willing to let me in.

_Good-Will._ I am willing with all my heart, said he; and with that he opened the Gate.

So when _Christian_ was stepping in, the other gave him a pull. Then said _Christian_, What means that? The other told him, A little distance from this Gate, there is erected a strong Castle, of which _Beelzebub_ is the Captain; from thence both he and they that are with him shoot arrows at those that come up to this Gate, if haply they may dye before they can enter in. Then said _Christian_, I rejoyce and tremble. So when he was got in, the Man of the Gate asked him, Who directed him thither?

_Chr._ _Evangelist_ bid me come hither and knock (as I did); and he said that you, Sir, would tell me what I must do.

_Good-Will._ An open door is set before thee, and no man can shut it.

_Chr._ Now I begin to reap the benefits of my hazards.

_Good-Will._ But how is it that you came alone?

_Chr._ Because none of my Neighbours saw their danger, as I saw mine.

_Good-Will._ Did any of them know of your coming?

_Chr._ Yes, my Wife and Children saw me at the first, and called after me to turn again; also some of my Neighbours stood crying and calling after me to return; but I put my fingers in my ears, and so came on my way.

_Good-Will._ But did none of them follow you, to persuade you to go back?

_Chr._ Yes, both _Obstinate_ and _Pliable_; but when they saw that they could not prevail, _Obstinate_ went railing back, but _Pliable_ came with me a little way.

_Good-Will._ But why did he not come through?

_Chr._ We indeed came both together, until we came at the Slow of _Dispond_, into the which we also suddenly fell. And then was my Neighbour _Pliable_ discouraged, and would not adventure further.

Wherefore getting out again on that side next to his own house, he told me I should possess the brave countrey alone for him; so he went _his_ way, and I came _mine_: he after _Obstinate_, and I to this Gate.

_Good-Will._ Then said _Good-Will_, Alas, poor man, is the Coelestial Glory of so small esteem with him, that he counteth it not worth running the hazards of a few difficulties to obtain it?

_Chr._ Truly, said _Christian_, I have said the truth of _Pliable_, and if I should also say all the truth of myself, it will appear there is no betterment 'twixt him and myself. 'T is true, he went back to his own house, but I also turned aside to go in the way of death, being persuaded thereto by the carnal arguments of one Mr. _Worldly Wiseman_.

_Good-Will._ O, did he light upon you? What! he would have had you a sought for ease at the hands of Mr. _Legality_. They are both of them a very cheat. But did you take his counsel?

_Chr._ Yes, as far as I durst: I went to find out Mr. _Legality_, until I thought that the Mountain that stands by his house would have fallen upon my head; wherefore there I was forced to stop.

_Good-Will._ That Mountain has been the death of many, and will be the death of many more; 't is well you escaped being by it dashed in pieces.

_Chr._ Why truly I do not know what had become of me there, had not _Evangelist_ happily met me again, as I was musing in the midst of my dumps; but 't was G.o.d's mercy that he came to me again, for else I had never come hither. But now I am come, such a one as I am, more fit indeed for death by that Mountain than thus to stand talking with my Lord; but O, what a favor is this to me, that yet I am admitted entrance here!

_Good-Will._ We make no objections against any; notwithstanding all that they have done before they come hither, they in no wise are cast out; and therefore, good _Christian_, come a little way with me, and I will teach thee about the way thou must go. Look before thee; dost thou see this narrow way? THAT is the way thou must go; it was cast up by the Patriarchs, Prophets, Christ, his Apostles; and it is as straight as a rule can make it: This is the way thou must go.

_Chr._ But said _Christian_, Is there no turnings nor windings, by which a Stranger may lose the way?

_Good-Will._ Yes, there are many ways b.u.t.t down upon this, and they are crooked and wide: But thus thou mayest distinguish the right from the wrong, _that_ only being straight and narrow.

Then I saw in my Dream, that _Christian_ asked him further If he could not help him off with his Burden that was upon his back; for as yet he had not got rid thereof, nor could he by any means get it off without help.

He told him, As to the Burden, be content to bear it, until thou comest to the place of _Deliverance_; for there it will fall from thy back itself.

Then _Christian_ began to gird up his loins, and to address himself to his Journey. So the other told him, that by that he was gone some distance from the Gate, he would come at the House of the _Interpreter_, at whose door he should knock, and he would show him excellent things. Then _Christian_ took his leave of his Friend, and he again bid him G.o.d speed.